David Dalglish - Night of Wolves

Darius was organizing men into groups of five on the other bank when they beached.

“Jerico,” he called, seeing their boat arrive. “Care to lead a smaller group, or would you rather remain up front with me?”

“Four groups should be enough,” said Jerico. “Give me the smaller, and I shall watch our flank.”

Darius pointed at Gary, the paladin, and a third bearing a torch. As he neared, Gary recognized him as the eldest son of his neighbor, a good lad named Dirk. He wasn’t even fifteen yet.

“What in the Abyss are you doing here?” Gary asked him. “Your pa know you’re out?”

Dirk blushed and refused to meet his eye.

“It won’t hurt none,” he mumbled.

“This ain’t a deer hunt, boy.”

“It’s all right,” Jerico said, pulling his shield off his back. A soft blue-white glow came over it, and immediately Gary felt his anxiety sliding away as it bathed over him. “Stay at my side at all times, Dirk, and keep your torch raised high. The wolf-men hate fire, and the light will hurt their eyes.”

“Fight with honor!” Darius shouted. “I have their trail, and they will not dare run from our challenge.”

Darius led the way, four of their strongest at his side, three wielding swords, one dual-wielding a torch and dagger. The other two groups marched behind and at either side. Jerico let them gain a bit of distance, then followed.

Gary felt his stomach twist into knots as they walked deeper into the Vile Wedge. It was said that the elven goddess Celestia cursed the land after the Gods’ War, ruining the soil and stripping the land of wildlife. Gary didn’t know if this were true or not, for this was his first time within. The grass was a pale yellow, though that could have been because of autumn’s rapid approach, not any curse. There were no trees beyond the edge of the river, instead long, sloped hills looking barren in the growing moonlight. A thousand campfire stories ran through his head, and try as he might, he couldn’t banish them. The Wedge was rumored to hold all kinds of villainous creatures, from orcs and goblins to the various animal-men, all twisted and formed to fight in the Gods’ War. The wolf-men were one such creation, and of all the stories, he knew at least they existed. He’d seen the corpse tied at the town’s entrance.

Deeper and deeper into the Wedge they traveled. Dirk grew increasingly nervous, but strangely, that made Gary feel better. His pride refused to let him show fear to a young boy approaching manhood.

“Maybe they’ve turned tail and run,” he said.

“You sure Darius knows where they are?” Dirk asked. “I don’t see no tracks.”

Gary had looked himself and saw nothing in the light of the torch and Jerico’s shield.

“Too many men ahead of us marching over them,” Jerico said. “Trust him, and the others.”

The river was but a distant shimmer when they heard the first howl of a wolf. It cut through him like a knife, and for the first time it seemed like Gary realized where he was, and what he was doing. He looked to his sword, an old relic passed down for four generations. He hadn’t even sharpened it before coming out, ignorant of the proper way and not thinking to check with Trent. Men from the other three groups were certainly thinking something similar, for he heard them muttering among themselves.

A second wolf howled, this time from the opposite side.

“Careful, Darius,” Jerico whispered. It did little to help Gary’s already crumbling bravery.

They followed the lead groups into a gap between two gentle hills, their slopes hardly taller than a man. Their pace had slowed considerably, and Jerico lessened the distance between them and the others. When the howls came again, they echoed all around them. Gary swallowed, his mouth feeling stuffed with cotton. Beside him, the torch shook in Dirk’s hand.

“Just two,” Jerico said. “Either side of the hills. Don’t panic. Stay with me, always with me.”

Several of the men on the right cried out and pointed. Gary looked but saw only the hill. Another howl sounded, this one directly behind them. He spun, his knuckles white as he gripped his sword. The grass was empty. Someone from the lead group startled and was swiftly ordered quiet. More and more howling, and this time it was the men on the left who pointed. Gary caught sight of a dark blur, and he couldn’t believe how fast it glided over the hill, vanishing on the other side.

Their groups halted, each one facing a direction. Moments later, Darius arrived and grabbed Jerico by the arm.

“Surrounded,” he whispered. Gary stared back to the river, pretending he didn’t hear and almost wishing he couldn’t. Blurred shapes approached, hovering low to the ground. His heart crawled up his throat.

“How many?” Jerico asked.

“I don’t know. Seven? Nine?”

“We need out of here, Darius. We aren’t prepared, not for those numbers. Such a large pack-”

The wolf-men howled, and it came from all sides, merging together so that Gary couldn’t begin to know how many there were. He imagined hordes of the creatures, enough to blot out the eastern grasslands, snarling and howling while drool dripped from their fangs…

Jerico grabbed his mace, and Darius drew his greatsword. Dark fire bathed its blade.

“We hold!” Karak’s paladin cried.

“To the river, Darius, we must flee to the river!”

“No! We hold, all of you men, hold, we will hold!”

He rushed to the front, leaving the three there to defend. Jerico stood before them, his shield raised.

“Cry out if any come from the side,” he told them. “Gary, stand firm, and watch for an opening. When you see it, do not hesitate. Do not be afraid. Kill it, and live.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Gary said. The dark shapes grew more pronounced, three wolf-men running at horrific speed toward them.

“You will,” Jerico said. Somehow a smile was across his face, and for the first time in their whole trip, he looked calm.

The wolf-men howled just before colliding with their forces, hoping to break the spirits of the defenders. Jerico stood firm, his legs planted and his shield in place. The three approached side by side, and in unison they lunged. Gary watched, feeling as if his feet were buried deep into the ground. Dirk, however, let out a cry and swung his torch. The rightmost wolf-man, having focused on Jerico, howled and turned its head away. Its slash went wild, and then it dug its claws into the earth to slow its momentum.

The other two slammed into Jerico. Gary expected him to fly back, unable to endure such power, but then the light of his shield flared. The wolf-men cried out in pain, and then it was they who fell back, one staggering on two legs, the other falling to all fours and snarling. It shook its head as if to clear away a fog. Jerico gave it no reprieve, stepping in and bashing its skull with his mace. It hit with a crack that made Gary’s stomach turn.

The one that had sailed past returned, this time more carefully. Dirk waved his torch back and forth at it, as if shooing away a stray cat. At first Gary feared he’d been injured, seeing something slick on his clothes, but then realized the boy had lost control of his bladder. He couldn’t blame him. From up ahead, he heard constant screams of pain, snarls of wolves, and chaotic orders combined with pleading.

“I’m no beast scared of fire,” the wolf-man snarled at Dirk. Gary nearly felt his own bladder let go. The creatures could talk? Why had no one told him they could talk? Bobby had said it laughed at him, but he’d thought him hallucinating, caused by sorrow to hear strange things. The creature’s voice was deep, grumbling. He realized the intelligence they must possess if they could communicate in such a way. Bobby had made it sound like they’d gone to hunt mindless monsters. But this…this…